^    M     /"    C... 


TO- 

TnEODOR 
QEKHflN 


/  i 


TO  KARL  THEODOR  GERMAN 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF 


PLATEN 


BY 


REGINALD  B.  COOKE,  Ph.  D. 


ITHACA.  NEW  YORK 


-^7 


/p/3.<v--»-^^»-<_- 


Entered  in  the  Library  of  Congress, 

and  Copyright,  1 920,  by 

R.  B.  Cooke 


This  edition  limited  to  one  hundred  copies. 
Copy  No...... 


Foreword 

These  sonnets,  now  presented  in  an  English  trans- 
lation for  the  first  time,*  were  written  at  Erlangen  in  the 
early  months  of  1 826,  and  Eire  thus  of  slightly  later  date 
than  the  two  cycles  which  1  have  previously  translated.! 
Platen  first  saw  German,  who  was  a  theological  student 
from  the  Bavarian  Palatinate,  in  November,  1825,  and 
first  spoke  to  him  at  a  ball  in  January,  1 826.  We  may 
believe,  as  Platen  tells  us,  that  the  friendship  which  these 
sonnets  celebrate,  though  of  such  a  short  duration  and 
unhappy  ending,  surpassed  all  his  earlier  attachments  in 
strength  and  purity  of  feeling,  but  his  judgment  that  the 
sonnets  similarly  excel  all  those  of  earlier  date  may 
prove  to  many  less  acceptable. 

The  rhyme-scheme  of  these  translations  is  again 
identical  with  that  of  the  originals,  these  sonnets  showing 
no  exception  to  Platen's  regular  form.  I  have  once  made 
use  of  a  feminine  rhyme,  where  the  high-flown  language 
of  the  German  seemed  to  warrant  this  departure  from 
custom;  and  once  1  have  carried  on  one  of  the  octave's 
rhymes  through  the  sestet,  a  procedure  to  which,  though 
it  is  generally  disapproved,  I  cannot  see  the  least  ob- 
jection.    On  this  occasion  I  have  met  with  unbroken 


4  E  5  6  8.0 


success,  though  perhaps  somewhat  at  the  cost  of  spon- 
taneity, in  dividing  each  sonnet  into  four  parts,  within 
which  again  there  is  a  minimum  of  enjambement.  So 
meticulous  is  Platen's  art  in  these  respects  that  the  imita- 
tion of  rhymes  and  periods  is  in  itself  a  puzzling  task 
preliminary  to  all  considerations  of  poetic  value.  For 
the  rest,  traces  of  the  conflict,  so  familiar  to  every  trans- 
lator of  verse,  between  faithfulness  to  the  original  and 
the  intrinsic  merit  of  the  translation  will  no  doubt  be 
found  sufficiently  evident,  but  it  is  at  least  the  right  of  a 
translator  to  demand  that  his  work  be  in  no  particular 
condemned  without  comparison  with  the  original. 

Orr's  Island,  Maine.  R.  B.  C. 


*With  the  exception  of  a  translation  of  the  ninth  in  Longfellow's 
Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe  and  of  the  eighteenth  in  Edward  Car- 
penter's Anthology  of  Friendship. 

i Sonnets  from  Venice,  1914,  and  To  Cardenlo,  1919. 

I  have  now  translated  nearly  half  of  Platen's  sonnets,  and  hope 
to  complete  the  work  in  a  few  years,  so  that  the  several  series  may 
be  issued  in  a  single  volume. 


Jene  Sonette  werden  nicht  untergehen  und  das 
Ubermasz  von  Freundschaft,  das  ich  immer  fiir  diesen 
Menschen  fuhleh  werde,  der  Nachwelt  iiberliefern. 

'        -Platen. 


TO  KARL  THEODOR  GERMAN 


\Y/HEN  shall  1  master  this  anxiety 

Which  seizes  me  when  thou,  dear  friend,  art  nigh? 
1  seek  thy  presence  e^-en  as  a  spy, 
Hoping  yet  fearing  Vj  discover  thee. 

How  can  I  fear  'fore  one  I  fain  would  see 
Folded  in  my  embrace?  ^Oh,  tell  me  why 
So  swift  my  blood  is  checked,  and  what  can  tie 
My  spirit  as  with  bonds  of  slavery. 

Is  it  the  dread  lest  thou  thine  heart  shouldst  close, 
Lest  on  the  crags  of  thy  false  pride  I  steer, 
Ever  avowed  the  greatest  of  love's  foes? 

Is  it  the  godliness  of  bonds  so  dear. 
Since  love,  as  before  God,  for  ever  shows 
Before  its  object  reverence  and  fear? 


\^OU  too  deceive  me,  since  where'er  I  turn 

I  know  that  all  defraud  me  and  deceive. 
You  fill  my  mouth  with  bitterness,  and  leave 
My  heart  with  flames  of  longing  still  to  burn. 

And  that  which  all  save  enemies  would  spurn 
Must  I,  a  friend's  reward,  from  you  receive; 
Yet  I  the  splendor  of  thy  name  achieve, 
That  future  ages  may  thy  praises  learn. 

But  howsoever  cold  thine  heart  may  grow. 
Still  by  my  dewy-glistening  eyes  I  swear 
Thy  love  I  will  not  even  yet  forego. 

Spring  as  her  mirror  chooses  one  so  fair; 

Youth  laughs  and  sparkles  on  thy  brow,  as  though 

The  sunshine  and  th*  aurora  mingled  there. 


Ill 


TTHAT  I  do  have  abundant  right  for  scorn 

At  such  dishonorable  injuries 
I  deeply  feel,  though  if  my  heart  should  please 
To  enjoy  this  right,  unwilling  am  I  drawn. 

For  this  I  deem  the  most  accursed  thorn 
Which  an  unkindly  fate  has  thrust  in  these 
Our  love's  still  all  too  young  amenities. 
Dragged  to  the  grave  almost  so  soon  as  born. 

What  for  the  future  can  I  hope  from  you, 
If  at  the  very  dawn  of  our  new-found 
Affection  such  a  bolt  strikes  from  the  blue? 

But  ah!  my  right  renounces  every  ground 
For  being,  seeing  thee  so  fair  to  view. 
And  lives  in  truth  only  on  empty  sound. 


IV 


HTHOUGH  in  the  flesh  our  steps  apart  we  bend, 

Our  spirits  still  in  memory  entwine; 
And  when  my  soul  merges  itself  in  thine, 
My  thoughts,  I  fancy,  must  thine  ear  attend. 

Possessed  not  God  Love's  wings,  how  should  He  lend 

Her  guidance  on  a  mission  so  divine? 

And  if  thy  soul  in  dreams  he  grants  to  mine. 

Of  whom  save  thee  could  He  such  visions  send? 

If  you  but  love  me,  gladly  will  I  brook 

Thine  absence,  since  of  what  our  souls  complain 

Well  know  I,  though  they  be  by  speech  forsook. 

And  yet  while  I  must  still  in  doubt  remain. 
And  long  to  interrogate  thine  every  look, 
I  count  our  separation  naught  but  pain. 


YOU  love  and  yet  are  silent.     Oh,  'twere  best 

I  too  unspeaking  had  indulged  mine  eyes. 
I  had  not  learnt  how  silence  mortifies, 
If  I  had  ne'er  a  word  to  thee  addressed. 

Yet  would  I  not  our  love  be  ne'er  confessed, 
And  woe  the  day  when  it  grows  cold  and  dies! 
For  it  was  sent  us  from  celestial  skies, 
Where  throng  in  amity  the  angels  blest. 

Therefore  be  this  sweet  fancy  still  allowed, 
That  you  do  love  me,  lest,  all  desolate 
My  soul,  my  faith  must  perish  unavowed. 

Deny  me  not  the  day,  disdainful  Fate, 
When  to  a  loyal  friend  a  soul  so  proud 
Though  fair  shall  every  hidden  thought  relate. 


VI 


QEEFC  you  a  friend  who  should  to  death  be  true, 

In  joy  and  sorrow  ever  at  thy  side, 
Make  choice  of  me,  for  one  more  qualified 
Thou  canst  not  find  to  pledge  himself  to  you. 

Truly  he  cannot  spread,  as  thou  canst  do. 
The  raptures  of  his  beauty  far  and  wide; 
But  all  men  hear  with  unreluctant  pride 
The  charms  which  his  inspired  lips  bestrew. 

I  only  fear  that  it  may  cause  thee  grief. 
If  I  such  lofty  praise  of  self  allow. 
So  to  assume  a  splendor  past  belief. 

For  else  would  I  declare  that  even  now 

The  flickering  shadow  of  a  laurel  leaf 

Falls  on  this  young  and  still  unwrinkled  brow. 


vn 


CWEET  Spring,  with  hastening  steps  list  my  appeal. 

This  once  come  earlier  than  in  former  days, 
A  bland  physician,  when  our  breast  betrays 
Uneasiness,  gently  its  wounds  to  heal. 

Might  I  already  midst  thy  blossoms  steal. 
When  scarce  on  the  horizon  yet  forth  blaze 
The  fires  of  day,  until  their  dying  rays 
Depart,  my  tears  not  wishing  to  conceal. 

When  bright  thy  sun  flames  in  the  azure  skies, 
Would  I,  outstretched,  through  the  tall  grasses  peep, 
To  view  my  fancied  friend  with  dcizzled  eyes. 

Then  o'er  my  blinking  lids  should  slumbers  creep, 
Until  I  saw  the  glittering  stars  arise. 
And  by  his  image  felt  refreshed  in  sleep. 


VIII 


A  LTHOUGH,  my  grief  in  silence  to  allay, 

Find  some  propitious  place  and  hour  I  will, 
Yet  yonder  hovers  thy  fair  image  still. 
While  nearer  objects  swiftly  fade  away. 

Good  fellowship  my  wanderings  cannot  stay. 
Yet  solitude  the  sorrowing  soul  can  ill 
Endure,  and  thought  no  respite  brings,  until, 
Complaining  to  the  winds,  idly  I  stray. 

If  from  this  pain  you  wish  me  ever  freed. 
Oh  make  thy  true  affection  seen  and  heard. 
For  'tis  of  thee  alone  my  heart  hath  need. 

Many  the  friends  I  loved  false  to  their  word ; 
Yet  may  the  world  in  these  my  pages  read 
That  thee  before  all  others  I  preferred. 


IX 


pAIR  as  the  day  and  lovely  as  the  dawn, 

With  noble  brow  and  eyes  of  trustful  calm. 
Youthful  in  years  and  youthful  in  thy  charm. 
So  found  I  thee,  so  were  my  sorrows  bom. 

Oh  were  I  now  safe  to  thy  bosom  drawn, 
Where  I  might  ease  my  soul  of  all  alarm! 
Oh  that  I  might  thine  heart  of  fears  disarm 
Which  bid  our  tryst  await  another  morn! 

Why  do  you  shun  me?  Do  I  merit  scorn? 
Why  thus  afflict  one  who  hath  ever  shov/n 
Affection,  and  why  leave  me  thus  forlorn? 

Swift  as  the  bias  of  thy  thoughts  is  known. 
With  anxious  raptures  shall  my  heart  be  torn, 
As  when  a  prince  ascends  the  royal  throne. 


X 


'X'HE  world  is  falser  than  my  words  can  paint, 

And  blessed  he  on  whom  her  glance  ne'er  fell. 
She  treasures  up  our  sorrows  in  a  shell. 
And  gives  us  drink  therefrom  when  we  are  faint 

So  may  the  world,  midst  many  a  complaint, 
From  me,  her  instrument,  a  song  compel. 
O'er  distant  times  perchance  to  cast  its  spell, 
I  as  a  living  sacrifice  attaint. 

You  who  extol  my  lot,  and  have  believed 
You  well  might  envy  me  my  happy  days, 
How  can  you  linger  so  long  undeceived? 

Had  I  not  tasted  in  a  thousand  ways 

The  poison  of  the  world,  I  had  achieved 

No  heaven-sent  task  for  you  to  prize  and  praise. 


XI 


THOU  hast  prepared  me  hours  of  grievous  dread. 

For  which,  I  pray,  may  Heaven  never  wreak 
Vengeance  on  thee;  else  were  with  tears  thy  cheek 
Bedewed,  when  from  thy  lips  my  name  is  sped. 

Yet  until  all  delusive  hopes  are  fled 
Before  assurance,  though  it  but  bespeak 
Frailty,  thy  vindication  will  I  seek, 
Never  by  chance  appearances  misled. 

No  advocate  am  I,  yet  rest  assured 
That  my  two  eyes  shall  ever  intercede 
For  thee,  by  craft  into  thy  service  lured. 

So  long  as  they  upon  thy  beauty  feed, 

Love,  as  their  food,  therefrom  must  be  procured, 

While  you  my  sorrows  in  their  glances  read. 


XII 


'THE  muse  of  every  songster,  Admiration, 

Bids  me  extol  the  things  of  highest  worth. 
Artists  and  scholars,  ladies  and  men  of  birth 
I  praise,  and  so  pursue  my  inclination. 

You  are  the  soul  of  every  inspiration. 
The  radiant  summit  of  my  course  on  earth. 
The  central  sun  my  eulogies  engirth. 
Charmed  by  the  giddiness  of  my  rotation. 

And  when  with  trembling  words  thy  love  is  told. 
Oh  then,  my  friend,  do  you  confer  on  me 
More  than  my  art  can  give  a  thousandfold. 

Yet  graciously  the  world  hath  dealt  with  thee, 
For  fair  in  death  is  he  in  life  extolled 
By  an  imperishable  melody. 


XIII 


IF  I  o'erlook  thy  coldness  without  blame, 
It  is  because  I  silently  confess: 
Indeed  he  knows  not  how  the  happiness 
Of  all  my  days  is  coupled  with  his  name. 

He  knows  not  how  my  heart  is  all  aflame 
With  love,  what  lends  to  life  its  sacredness. 
Who  gladly  shares  his  joy  and  his  distress. 
Nor  whence  the  favors  I  have  granted  came. 

All  this  you  know  not;  shall  I  therefore  tell? 
Ah  no!  I  scarce  dare  speak  before  thy  face. 
Lest  I  so  fortunate  a  dream  dispel. 

For  howso'er  thy  beauty  and  thy  grace 

Do  charm,  they  may  but  cast  a  treacherous  spell, 

And  in  thy  heart  affection  have  no  place. 


XIV 


CCARCE  shall  you  need  to  ask  the  world  excuse 
Thy  love  for  me;  'twere  nothing  mean  or  low; 
And  they  who  scorn  the  favors  I  bestow 
The  favor  of  my  friends  must  likewise  lose. 

Many  the  friends  whom  I  could  not  refuse, 
Should  I  requite  the  love  of  all  who  know 
Th'  entire  passion  of  my  heart,  even  though 
But  distantly,  as  votaries  of  my  muse. 

For  a  warm  heart,  though  one  which  you  pursue 
With  poisoned  darts  envenomed  by  thy  spite, 
Must  ever  win  itself  warm  friends  and  true. 

But  thou  who  feignst  to  be  so  harsh — Oh,  might 

I  only  die  upon  thy  breast,  and  you 

Close  these  two  eyes  which  you  so  well  delight! 


XV 


TTOO  cruelly  you  try  me.     From  thy  bow 

Shaft  upon  shaft  comes  speeding  at  my  breast. 
You  have  for  me  this  preference  expressed 
O'er  one  whom  I  a  soulless  body  know. 

Yet  while  thy  beauty  sets  my  heart  aglow, 
1  battle  with  the  stormy  billows,  lest, 
Angered  and  by  deception  oft  distressed, 
On  thee  some  bitter  name  I  might  bestow. 

Ah  no,  beloved!  let  me  not  complain. 
Nor  by  the  dark  displeasure  of  my  mind 
The  object  worthiest  of  my  love  profane. 

If  to  my  friendship  you  were  ever  blind. 

Mine  was  the  fault,  for  trully  it  were  vain 

That  hands  be  joined  which  know  not  how  to  bind. 


XVI 


T^HEY  call  me  proud,  and  yet  that  I  should  be 

Unpleasing  to  thee — this  doth  ne'er  annoy; 
For  thy  blond  youthfulness  disdains,  dear  boy, 
To  keep  such  melancholy  company. 

I  will  indulge  in  jest  and  drollery, 

Rather  than  seek  in  tears  alone  my  joy. 

And  will  in  prayers  to  Heaven  the  hours  employ 

For  th*  unwonted  gift  of  gaiety. 

Truly  for  much  I  thank  the  kindly  fate 
Whose  gifts  beyond  what  I  deserve  abound. 
Though  I  have  none  which  might  ingratiate. 

But  who  can  give  me  back  the  cheeks  so  round 
And  all  the  bloom  of  early  youth's  estate. 
Wherein  alone  is  human  beauty  found? 


XVII 


TF  those  who  envy  us  with  craft  combine, 
So  to  embarrass  us  and  to  divide. 
Still  do  I  count  thee  not  one  to  whom  pride 
Forbids  a  passage  twixt  thy  glance  and  mine. 

Yet  all  too  oft  for  sight  of  thee  I  pine, 
And  though  my  eyes  hold  sway  on  every  side, 
The  loveliest  form  can  never  be  descried, 
Never  the  loveliest  features,  namely  thine. 

Only  take  heart,  nor,  timorous,  let  the  rein 
Of  love  fall  into  Envy's  hands,  who  would 
So  dearly  that  we  severed  still  remain. 

Be  but  thyself,  and  soon  this  period 

Of  grief  shall  pass,  and  soon  our  dreams  attain 

Realization.     We  deserve  they  should. 


XVIII 


J   IKE  the  bright  stars  I  would  that  when  I  die 
Swift  and  unconsciously  I  might  grow  pale. 
And  might,  like  Pindar,  even  as  runs  the  tale. 
Succumb  when  some  day  Death  is  passing  by. 

Ever  in  life  and  in  my  verse  must  I 

To  his  incomparable  greatness  fail 

To  attain,  yet  might,  my  friend,  should  death  assail. 

Resemble  him.     Now,  therefore,  hark  you  why. 

Moved  by  the  singing,  he  had  watched  the  play. 
And  in  the  theater  with  his  cheek  upon 
His  favorite's  comely  knee  weary  he  lay. 

And  when  the  music  ended,  and  anon 

He  who  so  gently  nursed  him  would  essay 

To  rouse  him,  he  to  the  gods  had  homeward  gone. 


XIX 


T   OVE  seems  the  tenderest  impulse,  and  so  must 

Even  the  blind,  even  the  deaf  conceive; 
Yet  I  am  certain  of  what  few  believe, 
That  tenderer  is  a  friend's  unfeigned  trust. 

For  love  will  ever  pant  with  fiery  lust, 
Itself  consuming,  itself  to  inweave; 
But  nothing  can  me  of  my  friend  bereave. 
Till  I  myself  vanish  in  airy  dust. 

He  shows  me  only  coldness  and  ill-will, 
Mocks  me,  and  long  has  ceased  to  understand; 
Yet  have  I  never  thought  to  speak  him  ill. 

Ne'er  shall  he  hold  and  press  in  his  my  hand; 

But  I  will  praise  him  yet  anew,  for  still 

That  which  we  praise  our  spirit  must  command. 


XX 


r^   Death,  so  sweet  and  yet  so  feared  by  all, 

I  pay  you  only  homage.  Oft  have  I 
Sought  after  thee,  and  oh  how  ardently 
Longed  for  thy  slumber,  whence  naught  shall  recall. 

You  sleepers,  covered  by  an  earthen  pall. 
And  hushed  by  an  eternal  lullaby. 
Have  you  not  drained  life's  cup  right  merrily? 
To  me  alone  perhaps  it  tastes  like  gall. 

You  too,  I  fear  me,  has  the  world  decoyed. 
Your  worthiest  achievements  likewise  made 
Of  no  account,  your  dearest  hopes  destroyed. 

Blest  therefore  all  who  greet  death  undismayed, 
Their  supplications  heard,  their  longings  void. 
For  every  heart  at  last  falls  'neath  the  spade. 


XXI 


QTILL  the  last  dregs  are  not  to  be  denied, 

Drained  from  the  cup  of  grief  which  you  outpour. 
Oh,  were  I  but  again  the  child  of  yore. 
By  flowing  tears  so  quickly  molified ! 

Since  they  have  thrust  me  roughly  from  their  side 
To  whom  immeasurable  love  I  bore, 
Confidence  fades,  and  bitter  chill  creeps  o'er 
My  heart,  where  love  and  hope  no  more  abide. 

Oh  fortunate  were  I  to  flee  afar 

To  distant  regions,  on  some  foreign  strand 

To  breathe  'neath  a  more  favorable  star. 

But  where,  the  last  ties  severed,  hatred  and 
Ingratitude  sincere  love's  guerdon  are, 
How  weary  am  I  of  my  native  land ! 


XXII 


L- [OW  shall  1  still  mankind's  goodwill  retrieve. 
Since  there  is  no  one  who  can  comfort  me  ? 
Let  me  be  wholly  plunged  in  misery, 
To  weep  in  silence  and  in  silence  grieve. 

No  longer  am  I  worthy  of  reprieve, 
Since  I  have  perished  in  his  memory; 
And  in  these  joints  which  ache  so  wearily 
The  seeds  of  dissolution  I  perceive. 

But  O  ye  Heavenly  Powers,  to  him  allow 
Entire  happiness.     Do  not  deny 
Whatever  wishes  his  heart  may  avow. 

Never  again  my  glance  shall  meet  his  eye; 
The  form  of  one  he  hates  no  longer  now, 
Alas!     even  in  his  dreams,  shall  he  espy. 


XXIII 


"VY/HILE  here  I  revel  in  the  open  air, 

I  call  to  me  each  almost  soulless  thing. 
You  butterflies,  you  birds  upon  the  wing, 
Oh  come!     Fear  naught,  but  trust  my  loving  care. 

That  I  should  strew  for  thee  a  treacherous  fare, 
Believe  it  not!     For  I,  now  squandering 
My  days  afar  from  men,  of  whom  they  bring 
A  greater  fear  than  thine — I  lay  no  snare. 

Oh  count  me  not  among  that  brutal  horde, 
Me,  who  ne'er  sought  another's  injury. 
Ever  the  scorn  of  men  my  sole  reward. 

Therefore  from  all  their  pathways  let  us  flee. 
You  they  would  catch  and  kill;  with  one  accord 
Me  they  have  laden  with  their  misery. 


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DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


OCT  30  mi 


CM  . 


,,)«'ffK 


m 


DUE 


JUL  0  ':  2001 


SUBJECT  TO  RECALL 
IMMEDIATELY 


CU£ 


JUN  0  i|  ZOUt 


SUBJECT  TO  RECALL 
hs/IMEDtATELY 


LD  21-100m-7,*40 (69368) 


4256S0 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


